


Not This Day

by Philosopher_King



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Background Het, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, Thor Needs a Hug, Valentine's Day Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopher_King/pseuds/Philosopher_King
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Valentine's Day approaches, Thor is reminded of a painful anniversary that occurs all too close to it: Loki's birthday. Jane asks him to share memories of celebrating with Loki, and helps him deal with his grief and regret.  (Yay, such a cheerful present for a Valentine's Day fic exchange!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not This Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissStreelight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissStreelight/gifts).



> This is a present for [@saygoodbye-not-thisday](http://saygoodbye-not-thisday.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, for the Valentine's Day gen fic exchange organized by [ladymacbeth99](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymacbeth99/pseuds/ladymacbeth99) ([@ladyofmidgard](http://ladyofmidgard.tumblr.com) on Tumblr). I sort of based the whole idea on your URL... hope that's not too cheesy :-P I was also playing on the fact that Tom Hiddleston's birthday is February 9. As I indicate toward the beginning of the fic, it's set sometime in January 2015 (or whatever year _Age of Ultron_ is supposed to take place in), before the events of AoU. Sorry it's kind of depressing... but hey, that's catnip for this fandom, right?

As soon as the Christmas decorations came down in the shops around New York, it seemed to Thor, the Valentine’s Day decorations went up.  Many of the traditions around Christmas, at least, were familiar from Yule celebrations in Asgard: decorating the home with evergreens, feasting, gift-giving, sitting before a roaring fire.  Even the ubiquitous character of Santa Claus held some familiarity: the story about him flying around to the homes of the faithful and leaving gifts for the children reminded Thor of a similar custom that Odin had observed when he was visiting Midgard; in fact, Erik informed him, the figure of Santa Claus was partly inspired by tales of Odin’s midwinter Wild Hunt.

But Valentine’s Day was completely strange to him.  There was a spring celebration of young love and courtship in Asgard, and a midsummer celebration of a couple’s commitment to each other, but none of them involved garish red and pink hearts or chocolates or paper cards.  Jane told Thor that the day didn’t really have anything to do with a saint named Valentine; it was just an excuse to sell things during the dead period between Christmas and Easter.  That explanation made a certain kind of sense.

Despite her insistence on the purely commercial nature of the holiday, however, Jane also made very clear to Thor that she expected him to do something for her on Valentine’s Day.  Nothing excessive, of course; just dinner at a nice restaurant, and an evening to themselves, uninterrupted by Avengers business.  And some sort of present might not go amiss, either.

Thor had been rather occupied with Avengers business lately.  They were still planning their assault on Baron von Strucker’s HYDRA base in Sokovia to retrieve the scepter—which the other team members still sometimes slipped and referred to as “Loki’s scepter,” though Thor had hinted several times that he preferred that they call it “the Chitauri scepter.”  He didn’t want to be reminded of Loki as he had been when he invaded Midgard, armed with that scepter: gaunt, wild-eyed, bitter, ready to destroy anyone who stood in his way—including his own brother.  In fact, most of the time, Thor didn’t want to be reminded of Loki at all.

He had told the rest of the team, of course, that Loki had died, and how; they deserved to know.  None of them had reacted with a crass “oh, thank God” the way Erik had (though, to be fair, he was still not entirely in his right mind at the time); but still, some were more sympathetic than others.  Clint, understandably, had a hard time feeling sorry that Loki was dead, and Thor didn’t blame him for being reticent with his condolences.  Steve, of course, was unfailingly gracious and sensitive to Thor’s feelings.  Thor told Tony that he and Loki might have gotten along if they had met before… well, before, and Tony believed him: he said that he had found himself grudgingly admiring the guy even when they were fighting against him; at any rate, he certainly had style.  It was Bruce and Natasha, though, who were most responsive to the story of how Loki had died fighting to avenge their mother and to protect Thor and Jane, Asgard, and all the Realms.  They in particular, Thor knew, had reason to want to believe in the possibility of redemption.

Thor tried, as much as possible, to throw himself into the tactical details of their plan and forget about what it was they were going to retrieve.  He tried to think about the weak points of the fortress, the topography of the surrounding land, the density of the nearby forest.  He tried _not_ to think about Loki controlling his friends’ minds, piercing Agent Coulson through the heart before pressing a button to send Thor hurtling to his death, stabbing Thor in the side with one of his throwing knives while sneering, _“Sentiment.”_   He tried not to think about Loki slumped against the wall of his cell in grief and defeat; laughing delightedly as he steered their skiff through the wind and spray; shielding Jane with his body from the shards of the Aether; gritting his teeth against the pain as he turned Kurse’s own weapon against him and watched it consume him; looking up at Thor with fear in his eyes as he said _“I’m sorry,”_ but strangely calm at the last when he said, _“I didn’t do it for him.”_

Thor made himself very busy indeed with battle tactics and local geography—so much so that Jane worried he would be too busy to take time off for Valentine’s Day.  Of course, she knew the Avengers’ work stopping HYDRA was far too important to shirk for a silly holiday, so if he really couldn’t take the time off…

“No, of course I’ll be able to spend Valentine’s Day with you,” Thor assured her.  “When is it again?”

“February 14,” Jane answered—maybe a little too eagerly, she reflected.

“Oh,” said Thor, and Jane thought his face suddenly looked strangely tight.

“Is something wrong?” she asked hurriedly.  “Did the team have something planned for that day?”

“No, of course not,” he replied with a cheerfulness that rang hollow.  “And I’m sure Tony will want to spend the evening with Pepper as well.”

They came to the front door of the Avengers Tower, where they were both staying for the time being, before Jane had to go back to New Mexico to take more measurements, then to Norway for a conference, then back to London to co-teach a class with Erik… Really, they had to snatch their time together while they had it.

They walked in the door and stood in front of the elevator for a moment while it scanned Thor’s eyes, and he said “Good evening, JARVIS” to verify his voice.

“Good evening, Mr. Odinson, Dr. Foster,” JARVIS replied as the elevator doors opened and they walked in.  “Main floor?”

“Yes, thank you,” Thor replied.

“How does he know I’m here?” Jane whispered.

“The sensors on the door detected that Mr. Odinson had a companion, and based on the height and weight of said companion, the probability was very high that it was you,” JARVIS’s even-toned voice answered.

“I’m not sure if that’s cool or creepy,” Jane said.  “No offense.”

“None taken,” JARVIS replied.

The elevator brought them up swiftly to the common area.  Tony, Pepper, and Steve were already there, drinking martinis while they watched Tony’s latest robotic creations attempt to make dinner.  He had created a computer program that could learn and follow recipes, which he called Mrs. Patmore, in honor of the cook on Happy’s favorite show (he even modeled its voice after the actress who played her), which was able to feed instructions to a modified version of DUM-E that he called DAISY (no, it didn’t stand for anything).  Tony had also felt it was very important that Mrs. Patmore be able to yell at DAISY when it (she?) did something wrong.  At the moment, Mrs. Patmore was yelling, “I said parsley, not coriander!” (by which, Jane knew, she meant cilantro; Tony had programmed them both to speak British English, which was also extremely important to him).  “Have you got eyes in your head?  Or is it your ears that are the problem?”

Pepper turned around when she heard the elevator door open.  “Thor!  Jane!  Would you like martinis?  We’re all having them.”

“And if you’d like to watch the floor show, it is extremely entertaining,” Tony added.  “Though I think I should have put Mrs. Patmore in a body, so she could box DAISY’s ears…”

“We’re lucky you take out all your villainous tendencies on robots,” Steve remarked dryly.

“I’ll have a martini, yes, thank you, Pepper.  Gin, dry, with two olives.”

“And a little dirty, right?” Pepper said with a sideways smile as she headed for the bar.

“You know me,” said Jane, turning to grin at Thor.  His mouth twitched a little, but he didn’t seem to be in a joking mood.

“I’d like to go up to our rooms to change for dinner,” said Thor.  “I’ll just be a moment.”

“You’ll probably be overdressed,” said Tony.  “I’m going like this.”  He spread his arms to indicate his Pink Floyd T-shirt.

Thor gave another tiny smile, but said nothing before turning around to get back in the elevator.

Jane thought he was acting a little odd, but tried not to worry too much about it as she chatted with the others.  Natasha showed up at some point, and asked to have her vodka martini without the vermouth.  Yes, she knew that was just vodka.

Thor had been gone for about fifteen minutes when Jane started to get a little worried.  After twenty minutes, Natasha asked Jane where he was.

“He went up to change about twenty minutes ago… he must have gotten distracted by something.  I’ll go find out what he’s up to and see if I can coax him down.”  Jane put her martini glass down on the bar and headed for the elevator.

She got out on the floor where she and Thor stayed when they were in New York, and walked toward their bedroom.  “Thor?  Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course.  I’ll be down in a moment.”  His voice sounded a bit clogged, Jane thought.

She found him sitting on his side of their bed; he had taken his coat and scarf off, but otherwise he was still wearing what he had been earlier.  His eyes looked red and puffy, and as she walked in, she caught him swiping his hands over his face as if to wipe away tears.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked, stopping in the doorway.

Thor looked up at her and smiled—almost that usual blinding smile, but shaded with sorrow.  “Nothing.  Sorry, I’ll come down right away.”

Jane sighed.  “I may be the absent-minded professor sometimes, but I’m not completely oblivious.  I can tell that you’ve been crying.  What is it?”

Thor blinked, opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it again.

“Look,” said Jane, letting just a hint of irritation show through her gentle tone.  “You don’t have to do this ‘I’m a manly warrior, I don’t have feelings’ act with me.  I know you’ve had… a rough couple of years.”

She walked over to the bed, sat down next to Thor, and put a hand on his shoulder.  “You’ve been acting funny since we got home.  What’s going on?”

“The date,” said Thor in a rush, as if he didn’t trust himself ever to speak if he didn’t do it right away.

“What date?” Jane asked, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

“Valentine’s Day,” he said.

“It’s still a couple weeks away, and anyway, I told you it’s not that important…”

“No, it’s… the Asgardian calendar doesn’t quite line up with Midgard’s, but I’d been doing the calculations and I figured out… Loki’s birthday.  It would have been a few days before.  February 9.”

“Oh,” said Jane softly.  She moved her right hand to his right shoulder and put her left hand on his left arm so that she was almost embracing him, and leaned her head against the hand on his arm.  “Oh, Thor, I’m so sorry.  Do you want to talk about it?”

“I thought I didn’t,” said Thor, this voice still sounding thick.  “I was trying not to think about it at all.”

“But you did the math to figure out when Loki’s birthday would be on the Midgardian calendar,” Jane pointed out gently.

“I wasn’t very successful,” Thor admitted with a wet little laugh.

“Tell me,” said Jane, rubbing his back with her right hand.  “What would you and Loki do for his birthday?”

“We don’t really celebrate birthdays every year in Asgard,” said Thor.  “Not after early childhood.  After we come of age, we only hold birthday feasts and give gifts every century.  But every year we still do something small.  A family dinner, a favorite dessert.  Loki always had a sweet tooth—ever since he was a child…”  Thor’s voice cracked a little.

“What was his favorite dessert, then?” Jane asked with a smile in her voice.

“He loved anything with honey,” said Thor.  “Or almonds.  Honey and almonds together were best, of course.”  He exhaled a small laugh through his nose.

“Did he like chocolate?  He seemed like the kind of person who would like chocolate.  As dark as possible.”

“He did… but we didn’t have it growing up in Asgard.  Not until Loki brought some back from one of his trips to Midgard.  Maybe… three centuries ago?  He was always doing that… going to Midgard to see how things were changing, bringing back whatever caught his fancy.  Books, usually.  Sometimes food.  The occasional musical instrument.  Once it was cannabis…”

 _“What?_ Loki brought _weed_ back to Asgard?”  Jane was aghast.

“If that’s what you call it, yes.  He said ‘marijuana’ was another name for it…”

“Did he sell it?” Jane asked, still horrified.

“No.  At least, I don’t think so.  As far as I know, he only shared it with me.”

“Jesus,” said Jane, trying to imagine younger versions of Thor and Loki getting stoned together.  She wasn’t gaining much traction with the mental image.  Mostly she was just hearing them bickering the way they had during their escape from Asgard, only slowed down and with a lot more giggling.

“So… what do you do on the big birthdays?  The century ones?” Jane asked.

“A feast is held in honor of the person whose birthday it is.  Toasts are given to celebrate their victories, their accomplishments.  Guests give them gifts.”

“So, what kinds of things would you give Loki for his birthday?”

“I—I never knew quite what to give him.  A fine horse, sometimes.  A good whetstone, once, for his throwing knives.  I seldom gave him books; I would be hopeless at finding the right ones, unless there was something in particular I knew he’d had his eye on.  A well-known scholar had been working on a comprehensive new history of the last Jötun War just before his eight hundredth birthday, and he’d mentioned that he wanted to read it… oh.”

Thor stopped short, and tears started shining in his eyes again.  “What’s the matter?” Jane asked, squeezing his shoulder again.

“I don’t know why I just realized this now—I’m such a fool.  The date we always knew as Loki’s birthday—the one that translates to February 9—that can’t have been his real birthday.”  Thor covered his mouth to muffle another little sob.  He cleared his throat and said hoarsely, “I don’t know if that was the day he was found”—Thor half-choked on the word—“or if our parents just… chose a date.  Maybe estimating based on how old he appeared to be.”

“It doesn’t matter, Thor,” Jane said gently, earnestly.

“Doesn’t it?”

“You know that if he were here, you would tell him it doesn’t matter.  What matters isn’t the day he was born to a family that abandoned him; it’s the day he celebrated with the family and friends who loved him.”

“Of course I would tell him that, but he wouldn’t listen.  Stubborn fool, he never listened…”  Thor clutched the edge of the bed, white-knuckled, pulling folds of the bedspread into his clenched fists so forcefully that Jane thought it might rip.  She knew exactly what he was thinking of now, and she definitely wanted to change the subject.

“Why don’t you tell me about a happy memory you have of celebrating Loki’s birthday?”

Thor looked at her with a puzzled frown; he searched her eyes for a moment.  “Why are you asking about this?”

“I want to know about you, everything there is to know, and your relationship with your brother is an important part of your life, so…”

Thor shook his head.  “I shouldn’t be dwelling on this, on these memories.  It’s been more than a year now.  I know I need to let him go—to say farewell.”  Even as he said it, Thor could see the half-mocking, half-pitying expression on Loki’s face as he piloted the Asgardian skiff through the ruins of Svartalfheim, could hear Loki’s harsh voice in his head: _“Say goodbye.”_

Jane sighed.  “I thought that at first, when my father died.  But then I realized that if you really loved someone, you’ll never be able to let them go; so you might as well keep them alive in happy memories that you can look back on fondly.  And I get the whole warrior culture thing—people die, be a man, get over it.  But you don’t have to be like that here.”

Thor took a deep breath through his nose, let it out.  He relaxed his hands, folded them loosely in his lap, looked down at them, and began: “When we were children—older children, already starting our military training, but still a long way from coming of age—Mother gave Loki a kitten for his birthday; she seemed no more than a tiny black ball of fluff.  We spent all day playing with her, watching her chase bits of string and bat around crumpled pieces of paper.”

Jane raised her eyebrows and laughed.  “A kitten?  Really?  I wouldn’t have thought of Loki as the nurturing type.”

“He wasn’t, most of the time, though he was always gentle with animals.  But I never saw him be as openly affectionate with anyone as he was with that cat.  He named her Fenrir…”

“He named his cat—his female cat—Fenrir.  After the wolf that’s supposed to eat the sun at Ragnarök.”

“And kill the All-father, yes.  The way he cooed over her, called her ‘sweetness’ and ‘darling girl,’ you’d have thought she was his child.  I remember, he would bring her leftover scraps of meat from the dinner table; he would refuse to get up if she was sitting on his lap, because he didn’t want to disturb her.  Sometimes he might sit down to read on his bed or on the sofa in his study, and she would lie down next to him; and most of the time he ended up sleeping, too, curled around her, with her back against his chest.”  Thor smiled fondly, if a little shakily, at the memory.

Jane gave a little delighted laugh.  “Oh my God, now I’m trying to imagine Loki spooning with his cat.”

“Spooning?”

“You know how spoons nestle together in a drawer, back to front?”  Jane demonstrated the configuration with her cupped hands.

“Ah, I see.  Yes, well, Loki frequently _spooned_ with his cat.  And I frequently had the unpleasant task of waking them from their nap and telling Loki it was time to come to dinner.  Sometimes it seemed he had turned half-cat himself; he could certainly hiss as fiercely as she could.”

“Now that I _can_ imagine,” said Jane with a crooked grin.

“He truly loved that cat—more even than he loved me, it sometimes seemed.  He was devastated when she died.  He became very withdrawn not long after, very quiet and solemn, and his heart never seemed to be in his smiles.  No, I’m not saying that was _because_ his cat died,” Thor said in response to Jane’s skeptical look.  “But I think she kept him from becoming too lonely, or dwelling too much in his own thoughts.”

“He didn’t get another cat?”

“No… we both became very busy in the last couple of centuries before… you know.  With administrative duties, and learning the finer details of managing a realm—Father was already preparing me to take the throne, and Loki to become my chief adviser.  And perhaps Loki also felt he would be betraying his loyalty to Fenrir.”

Thor was looking sad and pensive again, so Jane decided to turn the conversation back toward her purpose.  “Can you think of any other nice stories about celebrating Loki’s birthday?” she prompted gently.

Thor gave a small sad smile.  “You can’t truly be interested in all this maudlin reminiscing.  Don’t feel the need to humor me if I’m being terribly boring.”

Jane raised her eyebrows.  “I don’t think anything involving Loki could _possibly_ be boring.”

“You might be surprised,” Thor said dryly.  “Or, might have been,” he corrected.

“Why on earth would you say that?” Jane asked, bemused.

“He did have a tendency to develop obscure intellectual interests, and then talk about them at _great_ length to anyone who might listen.  It could become… wearying.”

“So… you’re saying Loki was a _nerd?”_ Jane asked, barely suppressing the urge to laugh.

“I am not familiar with that term, but if it captures the pattern of behavior I have described…”

“Yep.”  Jane allowed a small laugh to escape.  “Well, then, I want to know about _that_ Loki.  Not the one who was on every news station for attacking New York, and not the one I met, who was still smug about it.  The one you grew up with.  The one who could be boring.  Loki the nerd.”

“Very well,” Thor sighed.  “My _best_ memory of Loki’s birthday was his seven-hundredth.  This was before he grew quiet, when he still laughed and reveled with the best of us.  I had planned a surprise for him, for after the feast: I took him and our closest friends—Sif and the Warriors Three—to a spot in the hills above the city that I knew had his favorite view of the lights and the water.  I had already stashed some mead and wine in the hollow of a tree, and we built a campfire and sat around it and drank.  And then I proposed a challenge: instead of a contest of insulting verse—which is a traditional Asgardian pastime, very amusing but occasionally dangerous—we would exchange verses of praise.  We could all praise any one of the others, but everyone had to dedicate at least one verse to Loki.”

“Aw, that’s such a sweet idea,” said Jane earnestly.  Thor looked down with a slight blush.  “You’ll do great at Valentine’s Day,” she assured him, to which he responded with a soft chuckle.  “So, how did the contest of praise proceed?”

“The Warriors Three praised each other in jest, as is their wont.  Hogun praised Volstagg’s prodigious capacity for eating, drinking, talking, and fighting, sometimes all at the same time.  Fandral praised Hogun’s fortitude in resisting even the strongest inducement to smile.  Volstagg praised Fandral’s resilience in the face of rejection by one woman, and his courageous readiness to try his luck with the next.”

“That sounds like them, from what I’ve seen.”

“Everyone was more sincere in their praise of Lady Sif…”

“Which is only fair, considering the shit she’s probably had to put up with,” Jane interjected.  Thor looked somewhat surprised at the interruption.  “What?  I know what it’s like to be a woman in a male-dominated field, and it _sucks.”_

That was a Midgardian expression with which Thor was familiar; smiling a little at its crudeness, he replied, “Yes, I imagine that it does.  Loki said something about that—something very kind and earnest, which was odd enough for him already, and even odder considering that he and Sif had never seemed to like each other.  He praised her for having the courage to persist in being who she was, regardless of what other people wanted her to be.”

“Amen to that,” Jane murmured.

Thor cocked his head to one side, looking a bit puzzled, but took the comment as indicating approval and left it at that.  “And what Sif said about Loki… The others praised the obvious things: his skill in magic and blade-throwing; his eloquence, his storytelling prowess, his dry wit.  But what she said I’ll never forget: that he had a mind vast and hungry enough to devour the whole universe.”

“I’m not actually sure that was a compliment,” Jane remarked.

“I wasn’t sure of it, either,” Thor agreed.  “But Loki laughed and looked delighted by her words.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that,” Jane acknowledged.  “And what did you say about Loki?”

“I had prepared something, of course, since the contest was my idea,” Thor admitted.  “I said… I said the things that I realize now I should have said to him every day.  I praised him for his quick thinking and his talent for strategy, the way he always seemed to be able to remain cool-headed in a crisis and somehow find an escape from the most hopeless of traps.  I praised his steadfastness and loyalty, his readiness to stand by my side through any danger, and the courage that required—quieter and less brash than my own, to be sure, but no less true.  I told him how glad and proud I was to have such a skilled mage, such a fierce fighter, such a loyal comrade at my side, then and always—to be able to call him _brother,_ and not only in blood.”

Thor’s voice grew hoarse and thick as he spoke, and cracked on the last phrase.  Jane could think of nothing to say to comfort him, so she simply turned and leaned forward to put her arms around him in a slightly crooked embrace.  After only a moment she felt his arms wrap around her in turn, and his cheek come to rest on the top of her head.  They stayed that way for a long minute.  His tears, like the first drops of a warm summer rain, slowly made their way through her hair, and she shivered a little when she felt their touch on her scalp, but only hugged him closer.

“I should have said it to him every day,” Thor repeated when he had recovered his voice.  “I never realized… if I only said it once, he would quickly stop believing it.”

Jane gently pulled away before speaking again, her voice soft and sad.  “How did he respond when you did say it?  Did he believe you then?”

“I—it is hard to say.  He laughed, and made a show of embarrassment; he congratulated me on my eloquence, which he said he was _sure_ was entirely improvised.”  Thor gave a little sideways smile at the memory.  Then his face turned serious, and his gaze grew distant.  “I remember the way his eyes shone in the firelight… I could not tell if it was only the angle of the light, in contrast with the surrounding darkness, or if there were tears; and if there were tears, I could not tell whether they bespoke some deep feeling, or only the sting of the smoke on the wind.”

“It sounds like he was moved, certainly,” Jane said, trying to be reassuring.

“Moved, yes… but still, I think, disbelieving.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Someone—Fandral, I think—insisted that since the rules of the game were that everyone had to speak in praise of Loki, Loki had to speak in praise of himself.  Loki demurred, of course, but we all clamored for it—Asgardians love a good boasting speech, which is the natural companion of the insulting verse.  What he said, though—at the time I assumed he was only trying to be what he thought was appropriately modest; now… now I wonder.”

Jane waited in patient silence for Thor to recover his voice enough to continue.  After a few moments he cleared his throat; his voice was stronger and clearer than before but still trembled ever so slightly.

“He said that he was a great actor, then paused for dramatic effect.  I was puzzled at first; my first thought, foolishly, was that while Loki seemed to enjoy the plays we sometimes watched when mummer troupes were visiting the palace (more than I did, certainly), he had never acted in one.  But I soon realized what he meant.

“‘I can act charmed and engrossed by the conversation of someone whose company could only become interesting were they to spontaneously burst into flame,’ he said.  ‘I can speak as if I know all that could possibly be said on a topic about which I learned everything I know from some hurried reading over lunch before a council meeting.  I can act confidently as if I know exactly what to do when in truth I feel as if I am adrift on foreign seas, praying to the Norns that it is a shore I see dimly through the fog, and not a reef.’

“As he spoke we all laughed a bit, and protested that he was not giving himself enough credit.  ‘But when all the world’s a stage,’ he countered, ‘what greater praise can there be than to say that I am a good actor?’”

“Wait, how was Loki quoting Shakespeare?” Jane asked, taken by surprise.

“Quoting… whom?  What?”  Thor was lost.

“‘All the world’s a stage,’ it’s a line from a play by an Englishman named William Shakespeare… where would Loki have heard that?”

Thor furrowed his brow.  “Well, as I mentioned, Loki did like to visit Midgard once or twice a century to see how things were getting on…”

“When was this?  His seven-hundredth birthday… and he was born, what, around 1000 A.D.?  So this would have been… late seventeenth century.  Yeah, that adds up, if he went to England.  And saw ‘As You Like It.’”

“However it may be—that is how Loki ‘praised’ himself, or so he said.  I thought little of it at the time; I supposed it was a feigned modesty, for the sake of humor or graciousness.  But I wonder, now, if he meant it—if that was really how he saw himself.  An actor playing a part, pretending to a confidence he did not feel, a skill he thought he lacked.  Pretending to belong where he felt he did not.”

“These days we call that ‘impostor syndrome,’” Jane remarked.  Thor turned to her with a questioning look.  “It’s very common among academics,” she offered.

“I should not have let him continue to feel that way,” Thor said, his voice rough with suppressed anger.  “I should have told him every day how much I loved and respected him, how grateful I was for his aid, his counsel, his wit, his friendship.  But still, I fear… I fear even that would not have been enough.  That somehow all my words of praise would slip out of his mind and leave only my criticisms, however infrequent, and his own overwhelming doubts.”

“And that is a classic symptom of depression,” Jane said with quiet regret.

“It wasn’t until later that he seemed to fall into a depression, though,” Thor said hesitantly.

“Well, people can still show those characteristic patterns of thinking even when they’re not having a major depressive episode,” Jane pointed out.

“I think I’m not entirely sure what you mean,” Thor said slowly.

Jane sighed.  “For all that you Asgardians are ahead of us in pretty much every area of science and technology, I think you guys aren’t so great on your understanding of mental illness.  Which is probably what you would call madness.  Or perhaps ‘melancholy,’ in this case.”

Thor shook his head.  “There is certainly much about Loki that I did not and do not understand.”  He looked down at his hands and licked his lips as he searched for words.  “Perhaps it is because of all these misunderstandings, these regrets, these words left unspoken… perhaps that is why, terrible as it is to say, I have found it harder to let him go than even my mother.  Harder to accept that he is gone, to say goodbye at last.”

“He loved you,” Jane said firmly, gripping Thor’s shoulder as tightly as her frail mortal hand could.  “And he knew you loved him.  I saw you, the two of you, when he passed.  There’s no way he could have not known.”

 _And yet the last words I spoke to him were of our father’s approval, not my own love.  Not his selfless courage._ Thor did not say this out loud, however; he felt that he had burdened Jane enough with his grief and guilt.

“And as I said before,” Jane continued, “you don’t have to feel ready to say goodbye yet.  You’ll be able to say it in your own time.  For now, keep remembering the good things.  He’ll still be with you whenever you tell those stories.”

Thor swallowed, and forced himself to smile.  “Thank you, Jane, for listening, and for your wise words.  You have helped me immeasurably.  Not only today, but every day since those dark days.”

“I try,” said Jane.  Her voice had an affected air of light humor, but her smile was full of sincere warmth and compassion.  “Listen, I think we’d better go back downstairs and join the others for dinner.  What should we tell them about what took us so long?”  Jane’s smile took on a slightly mischievous cast.

“You can… you can tell them the truth, or most of it.  Tell them that I was dwelling in dark thoughts—though you need not mention Loki—and that you helped me to turn them to brighter things.”

“You’ll be down soon, though, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Thor assured her.  “I did actually wish to change my shirt.”

“Got it.”  Jane gave him another quick hug before she stood up and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Thor stood, slowly.  The memories of all those centuries ago left him feeling strangely old.  He closed his eyes and conjured Loki’s smile again—his genuine smile, his delighted laughter, the gleam of his eyes in the firelight, the flush of his cheeks in its warmth.  All too quickly, though, the image turned into the Loki of those last terrible days: the gaunt, ashen face; the dark, haunted eyes; the bitter, twisted smile; that hollow, mocking, pitying voice telling his brother—with an eerily ominous meaning, now— _“Say goodbye.”_

“Not this day,” Thor whispered to both Lokis who still lived in his heart, the young smiling one and the bitter heartbroken one.  “Not this day.”

**Author's Note:**

> As usual with me, this fic takes place in the same timeline as all my other fics. So there are some offhand references to events in [Silver and Gold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5047336/chapters/11606062) (unrequited Sif/Loki) and [Desert Flowers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5729293) (very tentative Thor/Loki; don't read if that's not your thing), though of course they're not necessary for understanding.


End file.
